


Essence of the Sun

by Morgelyn



Series: Psychopharmacopoeia [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Cock-Riding, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Poor Reek is a horny puppy, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Rutting, Shame, Smut, Thramsay - Freeform, leg-humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23379598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgelyn/pseuds/Morgelyn
Summary: Ramsay acquires a powerful aphrodisiac, which does not bode well for Reek at all.
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Reek, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy/Reek
Series: Psychopharmacopoeia [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681546
Comments: 25
Kudos: 166





	Essence of the Sun

Gods only knew what a Dornish merchant was doing this far north, especially in times of war. But here he was, and asking for an audience with the lord of the Dreadfort. Or acting lord, as the case may be. Ramsay was about to send him packing, until he heard he was an apothecary. That was always interesting. Poison may have a reputation as a woman's weapon, but in his experience it could still have its uses nevertheless.

As it turned out, poisons were not part of his merchandise. Ramsay grew increasingly bored as the man showcased his wares, which seemed to consist mainly of healing potions. He was about to redirect him to Maester Wolkan when something finally piqued his interest.

“It was your father I was interested in seeing, my lord,” the merchant said, clearly aware that his sales pitch was not going well. “As an older gentleman with a young wife, I thought he may have some use for Essence of the Sun.” He held aloft a small crystal bottle containing a viscous liquid, deep yellow-orange and almost glowing.

Ramsay scoffed. “An aphrodisiac, I suppose? Well, I don't doubt that he would, considering that fat sow he's got himself hitched himself to.”

The merchant gave a supercilious smile, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Ramsay's harsh words. The customer was always right, of course, but it would never do to insult them, even if they did so themselves.

“But unfortunately for you, my father is not here at present.” And Ramsay would be damned if he would lift a finger to help secure the conception of his own replacement. If his father was too old and too drained by his leeches to get it up, so much the better.

But then an idea struck him, an idea for a game.

“Tell me,” he asked the merchant, “how would this Essence of the Sun effect a younger man?”

“Oh, I would not recommend that, my lord.” The merchant shook his head. “This is a powerful distillation, most powerful. If it were used by a man whose blood already burned with the natural heat of youth, the effects would be most dramatic. Overwhelming, in fact. Perhaps even dangerously so.”

“How very interesting,” said Ramsay with a thoughtful smile. “I think I will take it, after all. How much?”

“My lord, I don't think you understand. I've seen it used thus and the effects were not pleasant.” He pulled another vial from his pack, this one tinted green. “Now if a man of your age were to find himself unable to...rise to the occasion, may I suggest this...”

Ramsay sighed. This stupid cunt had nearly escaped with a sale, but after such an implication he would be unlikely to escape even with his life. He called for his Boys and, as they dragged the protesting merchant away, examined the yellow bottle more closely, holding it up to the light.

Yes, this game could prove to be very interesting indeed.

~~~~~

That evening, Reek was called from the kennels to his master's chambers. There was nothing unusual in that, but still his knees trembled as he made his way there. It may be a commonplace occurrence, but seldom ended in anything good. The humiliation of begging for scraps of food, if he were lucky, and a selection of myriad horrors if he were not. And Reek rarely felt particularly lucky.

His master was sitting at the table when he entered, his face cracked with a broad smile, and this filled Reek with even more trepidation. Such a smile invariably indicated that a game was coming, and games were designed for Reek to lose. But there was nothing he could do to avoid it. He stood before his master, head bowed, and awaited his fate.

“Ah, Reek, there you are. Tonight you will serve at table in the Hall. I trust even you will be able to manage that without causing an embarrassment?”

So that was to be the game. Reek twitched slightly as he considered it, already flinching at the inevitability of pain. He would, of course, cause an embarrassment and thus be punished for it. That was how it worked. He tried to decide whether he would prefer it if his master punished him afterwards in private or in the Hall in full view of the guests. But that was only a choice between greater pain and greater humiliation, and it was not even his choice to make. He nodded meekly, and said, “Yes, m'lord.”

“Oh, Reek, there really is no need to look so worried.” His master's face was a picture of benevolent concern. “But I know how tense you get in such public situations. And you have been so good recently.”

A sickly swell of elated hope bloomed cautiously in Reek's narrow chest. He _had_ been good, or tried so hard to be, and his master had noticed! Perhaps this wouldn't be as bad as he feared. 

His master continued. “So I thought maybe some wine first, to calm your nerves.” He gestured to a goblet on the table.

Reek looked incredulously at the goblet, then back at his master, eyes wide. His master nodded encouragingly as Reek picked it up carefully in both mangled hands and took a sip. It tasted slightly bitter, almost metallic, but it had been so long since he had tasted wine... No, he corrected himself firmly - Reek had never tasted wine, that had been someone else. But it had been so long since Reek had tasted much of anything at all that he still relished it, enjoying the warmth as it spread through his empty belly.

“All of it, Reek.”

He eyed his master warily over the rim of the goblet as he drained it, waiting for an admonishment or even a change in his encouraging expression. But if anything, his smile grew wider as he drank. The taste was so rich, Reek worried for a moment that he might choke on it, but eventually he managed to drink it all down.

“Good boy,” said his master, standing and taking the empty goblet from Reek's hands. And again came that bloom in his chest, stronger this time and magnified by the rapid effects of the wine on his empty stomach. He could do this. He could prove himself to be good, to not make too many mistakes and to avoid bringing punishment down upon himself. The wine had given him the strength to hope and he savoured the heady feeling.

His master strode towards the Hall and Reek hobbled a respectful distance behind, still meek but with his head held higher than he had dared for a long time.

~~~~~

The feast in the Hall was a standard affair; mostly the usual crowd, interspersed with a few visiting minor nobles. Reek stood to the side until called, barely noticing the looks of mingled pity, revulsion and amusement on the guests' faces. His master believed in him and that, coupled with the pot-valiance from the wine, gave him strength. When he was called upon to bring platters or pour drinks, he did so without fear and thus was able to conduct the tasks without shaking or dropping anything. Truly, he amazed himself.

But as the night wore on, Reek began to feel strange. The metallic taste he had detected in the wine lingered, even as his mouth watered at the smell of all the food. In fact, it only seemed to make the bitter taste more pervasive. He also felt so warm; usually his gaunt frame was racked with icy shivers even in the warmest room, but now he felt a sheen of sweat on his flushed face. It was the wine, he told himself, even as he noticed how rapidly he was sobering up. And the heat in his flesh just increased, even as the confidence imbued by the alcohol wore off.

It wasn't until later, when he poured wine for one of the ladies present, that he realised the cause. She was the wife of some minor dignitary, approaching middle age, pock-marked and slightly fat. But as Reek stooped to fill her cup, he found himself staring down at her chest, mesmerised by the soft curve of her bosom, the merest suggestion of cleavage that disappeared into her dress to hint at what was hidden beneath. Reek felt something build in the pit of his stomach, a strangely familiar sensation that jolted like lightning down to his ruined groin. No, no, no. He averted his eyes quickly, but the feeling remained. How could this be happening? He hadn't thought about such things since...it had happened. The woman hadn't noticed, thankfully, as she had purposefully ignored him after initially screwing up her face in disgust at his presence.

Out of instinct, Reek's eyes darted to his master across the room. He was engaged in conversation, but Reek swore he knew exactly where he was. He always seemed to know. And sure enough, his gaze momentarily seemed to flick to Reek as a brief smile played over his face. Reek looked down in shame, trying to avoid thinking of his master's mocking words when he had been someone else, about eunuchs and phantom cocks...

But his master couldn't know, there was no way. He just had to tamp the feeling down and it would pass – that was the only way he could avoid being punished for this. Because he would be punished, if his master found out. He knew without having to be told that this was something he was was not  _allowed_ to be feeling. It was too close to pleasure, and that was something forbidden to a creature like him. Although nothing about this gave him any enjoyment at all. He took a deep breath and tried to continue with his duties.

But despite his efforts, the feeling continued to grow. The heat of the Hall was too much and Reek felt his flesh burn hotter than all the tallow candles there. The room became to him a mass of flesh, of breasts and hips and mouths and wet holes. It was as if he could smell the sex. Sweat poured down the back of his neck from under his hair. Obscene thoughts plagued him, abstract and unformed, because as soon as he got to the part where he would do something, he was reminded of his lack. Every step became an agony, the rough material of his trousers rubbing against the scar at his crotch, now overly sensitive and swollen and a continuous reminder of what was denied to him.

He knew he should not be feeling such things, but he also knew that the tide of lust building within him could not be dammed. It was with shame that he found himself consoled by the thought that if he could just get through this night, he could curl up in the darkness of the kennels and rub his scar with his fingers. Perhaps that would give him some relief. It filled part of his mind with horror – he had not even been able to bring himself to look down there, let alone touch – but he also longed for it, a fact he found even more horrific. It was his only solace in this intolerable situation.

He had become distracted with these thoughts and so did not notice his master's approach until he felt a meaty hand curl round his upper arm. He froze, wasted muscles tensing as his master leant close. “Neglecting your duties, Reek?”

“N-no, m'lord, never.” His voice was hoarse as he pushed the words out between rapid breaths. 

“Then tell me, why so many empty cups?” The hand on Reek's arm squeezed tighter and roughly turned him to face the rows of tables. Sure enough, several of the guests held their cups at an angle, eyes searching the room for a servant. 

Reek was gripped by panic, heart beating even faster. How could he have let himself become so preoccupied with these unbidden thoughts? Punishment was inevitable now. And what was worse, the punishment would mean he would not have the opportunity to touch himself tonight. The realisation that he found this aspect of the situation the most terrible caused bile to rise in his throat. What was wrong with him?

“Sorry, m'lord, I'm so sorry,” he babbled. “I'll do it now, right away.” He moved to pick up a flagon from the sideboard, but his master's hand gripped him tighter.

“You will,” his master said simply. Then he pulled Reek close, his voice low but clear in his ear. “And for every drop you spill, I will take an inch of skin from your miserable back.” Then he pushed him away so suddenly Reek nearly fell.

He reached for the flagon, heart pounding in his chest, trying desperately to quell the violent shakes that racked his body. But it was not the threat of punishment that caused this reaction, he realised with growing dismay; it was his master's hot breath on his neck, the electric touch of his hand on his arm, the feeling of his broad chest against his bony shoulder. Reek shuddered. This was worse, worse even than his reaction to the woman. At least that had made some sort of sense. This was...unprecedented.

Reek's hand stalled just short of the flagon as he tried to steady himself. Almost despite himself, he glanced back at his master as he walked away, seeking some sort of reassurance that it just been the proximity of another body that had set off this horrible cacophony. But he found himself transfixed by the strong back, narrowing slightly at the waist then swelling into the curve of meaty buttocks, the swagger of hips and thick, powerful thighs. With horror, he realised that he was staring, mouth hanging open in flagrant lust. That he could be feeling such things at all was nightmare enough, but over a  _man_ ? Even when he had been whole, had been someone else entirely, he had never entertained such desires. And not just any man, but his master? It was more than his broken mind could reconcile.

Of course, his master had taken him many times. But it had never been about sex, certainly not for Reek and he presumed for his master neither. It had been an act of domination and subjugation, a manifestation of Reek's pain and humiliation for his master's pleasure, a symbol of their relative stations. But the images that filled Reek's mind now were of something else entirely. Of thick lips around his cock...but that could not happen, for more reasons than one. Of parting those fleshy buttocks and thrusting slow and deep between them. But that could not happen either. He found he was weeping, from confused horror as much as frustration. His outstretched arm gave a sudden spasm and the flagon was knocked to the floor.

His master turned sharply at the clatter, as Reek fell to his knees amid the spilt wine. He strode back towards him, ignoring his babbled apologies, and pulled him to his feet by the hair.

“Do excuse me, ladies and gentlemen.” He addressed the room with theatrical aplomb. “It seems there are some matters I must attend to.” He gave Reek a sharp look. 

Reek followed snivelling as his master departed the Hall, so absorbed with his own plight that he barely noticed the knowing smirks and disgusted grimaces on the faces of the guests.

~~~~~

“What the fuck was that about, you little shit?” Ramsay sat down with a staged huff when they got back to his chambers, trying very hard not to laugh. He knew exactly what it had been about and it had worked far better than he had even imagined. 

Reek blubbered softly as he stood before him, head hung low so his pale hair obscured his flushed face. He shook visibly, practically panting between sobs. But even as he cried, his hands would twitch towards his own crotch before he pulled them back to his sides, over and over. The movements were slight and Reek was almost certainly unaware of them, but Ramsay was and found it delightful.

Maintaining his facade of fury, Ramsay continued. “Are you going to give me an answer? Don't make this any worse for yourself, Reek, because it's pretty bloody bad already.”

Reek looked up at him through strands of lank hair, eyes enormous in his gaunt face. His jaw was working up and down, but he was clearly too terrified to form sounds, let alone words. It wasn't until Ramsay stood that he managed to stutter out anything at all.

“S-sorry, m'lord, I-I-I...” He broke off into a whimper as Ramsay seized his throat, not squeezing but just holding it tightly enough to feel his adam's apple bobbing as he struggled to swallow. His skin was so hot it was practically burning. 

“You-you-you what?” said Ramsay in a mocking tone. He gave a slight push so that Reek had to scramble to keep his footing, and looked down at his pet. Then he screwed up his face. “Reek, have you fucking pissed yourself?”

Reek's eyes followed his master's, looking down with horror at the small wet patch that had formed on the front of his trousers. Before he could answer, Ramsay reached down and ran a finger over the dark stain in the fabric, making sure to also graze the ridge of scar tissue beneath. Reek responded with an unmistakable moan, which turned into a mewl of shame as soon as he became aware of it.

Ramsay brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed them ostentatiously. “Ah, so you haven't pissed yourself after all. It seems that my bitch is in heat.” He released his grip on Reek's throat and sat back in his chair. With a magnanimous smile, he extended one leg towards his pet. “Like all dogs, I'm sure there's something you can do about that.”  
  
As ever, Ramsay relished the conflicted terror on his pet's face, the usual compulsion to obey at odds with his ever-dwindling impulse to avoid humiliation. But this time, there was also something even sweeter – Reek's shame at how powerfully he _wanted_ this. The desperation of his desire to rut against his master's leg like a dog and the clear mortification it brought him shone out from his tear-filled eyes. As he stared at Ramsay's outstretched leg, his hips began to jerk back and forth, small but definite motions that betrayed his burning need. With one last broken whimper, he straddled Ramsay's leg and began to thrust. 

It wasn't long before he was rutting desperately, grinding against Ramsay's thigh with ever more frantic movements. He kept his eyes shut, but a constant flow of tears streamed from beneath his closed eyelids and down his burning cheeks, his face locked in a grimace of shameful frustration. A pretty sight indeed, as Ramsay looked down on him. But as amusing as this part of the game had been, it was starting to get boring.

With a sudden movement, Ramsay kicked him back and sent him sprawling to the floor. He lay there, bony limbs all angles and his hips still thrusting at the empty air. The look on his face was one of surprise, confusion and humiliated frustration, and it was hilarious.

“Take off your clothes, Reek,” said Ramsay simply. Reek struggled to his feet and proceeded to do so. Ramsay grinned, knowing how much his pet hated to have his mutilated body exposed, even at the best of times. Reek knew he looked pathetic enough when clothed in his filthy rags, but naked he was so acutely aware of his own aberration, that he was a broken freak. And now, with the fires that raged through that his scarred, emaciated flesh and drew his attention most singularly to his obvious lack, it would be even worse. He stood, head bowed and arms locked to his sides, clearly trying so hard not to cringe under Ramsay's scrutiny. 

Ramsay took his time, drinking in the sight of his creation, this  _thing_ he had made out of a once-proud lord. Reek had fallen far, but he would soon find out just how much further there was left to fall. 

Ramsay's eyes roamed down the disfigured chest and ribcage, past the hollow belly that rose and fell with Reek's panting breaths, down to the livid scar at his groin. It was angrily red, the tissue irritated by the prolonged friction and swollen with unsated arousal so that it formed an engorged pad around the piss slit. It almost seemed to pulsate with the frantic beating of his pet's heart, and would occasionally gape obscenely as it released yet another trickle of precum.

Reek flinched as Ramsay stood and stepped towards him, but did not raise his head. His balls were high and tight; he had evidently been so close to release. Ramsay cupped them in his hand as Reek froze in fear, already anticipating a twist or sharp squeeze. But instead he just held them firmly, moving his thumb up to stroke the swollen slit with gentle vertical movements. Reek whined, consumed with need, as Ramsay worked the tip of his thumb into the wet, swollen cleft and moved it in firm circles.

Unbidden, he began to beg. “M'lord, please...”

Ramsay smiled broadly, increasing the pressure with his thumb. This was too perfect. “Please what, Reek?”

He had made his pet beg for his cock on many occasions, but had never been under the illusion that the desire had been genuine. That had been part of the fun, of making him plead for something he resolutely did not want. But this time was different, and they both knew it. That was why Reek hesitated, taking several shaky breaths before he could force out the words he knew his master wanted to hear.

“Please, m'lord, please fuck me. Please let me have your cock inside me.” 

“And what makes you think you deserve such an honour?” Ramsay was already hard as iron, his erection straining beneath his clothes, but this game was too delicious to rush.

Reek sobbed, his broken mind struggling to come up with an answer to an impossible question. “R-Reek is undeserving. But please, m'lord, please fuck me anyway. Please fill me with your cock.”

Hearing his pet debase himself, talking filth in a voice quavering with such desperate need, was the final straw. “Very well, Reek. Since you ask so prettily.” He released his hand from Reek's groin, took a step back and began to unlace his breeches.

Reek sighed in shameful relief, getting down on all fours and turning to present himself.

“Oh no, Reek,” said Ramsay with a smirk. “You want it so much, so you do the work.” He stepped out of his discarded breeches and sat down in the chair.

Reek looked over his shoulder from his crouched position, eyes wide with wary confusion. Ramsay patted his lap and gave a low whistle, as one might call a housepet, and Reek's face fell as he understood. He awkwardly got to his feet and hobbled towards his master's chair.

Ramsay halted him with a raise of his hand as he approached, relishing the way his eyes were hungrily fixed on his cock. He stroked himself slowly and was rewarded with an inadvertent whine from the back of Reek's throat. His pet's desperation was intoxicating.

“As you say, Reek, you certainly don't deserve it. But I'm feeling generous, so you may prepare yourself.” 

There was more bewildered fear in those expressive eyes, as the broken mind struggled to comprehend his meaning. Then the horror of realisation. He started to raise his hand, until Ramsay inclined his head expectantly.

“Thank you, m'lord,” Reek said quickly, voice thick with misery. He closed his eyes and brought his hand to his mouth, only hesitating for a moment before starting to suck on what remained of his fingers. But his mouth was so dry from fear and the effect of the potion; Ramsay could see the way he chewed at the inside of his cheeks in an effort to stimulate the flow of saliva. Well, it would have to do. Ramsay coughed pointedly, and Reek brought down his hand.

He awkwardly reached behind himself, the bones of his shoulder protruding through his paper-thin skin as he strained to finger his arse. A barely-healed cut across his prominent ribs was reopened as he stretched, releasing a slow trickle of blood. This, combined with the look of infinite shame and suffering on his gaunt face, was enough to bring Ramsay's patience to an end. Time to bring the game to its conclusion.

His pet was deliciously tight, but his technique was terrible as he lowered himself onto his cock; he clearly had no experience in such matters, and the wasted muscles of his thighs were weakened further by how far they were spread, knees splayed wide and awkwardly balanced on either side of the chair as he straddled him. But Ramsay graciously allowed him to clumsily adjust the angle until, with a shuddering gasp, Reek at last found what he needed. His rhythm became faster and more regular as he rode his master's cock, pounding it desperately against the spot inside himself that could bring him release. Even the shame had disappeared from his expression, replaced only with a pure and animal need.

It didn't take long before Reek came with a keening wail, eyes rolling back in his head as his seed cascaded from his pulsating slit in an obscene flood over Ramsay's stomach. He started to slump, spent and semi-conscious. But before he could fall, Ramsay grasped his bony hips hard enough to bruise. He moved him up and down on his cock, manipulating his meagre body like a doll until he came inside him with a satisfied grunt.

Ramsay pushed Reek to the floor; he didn't make a sound, even as he landed hard on his bony knees. He just knelt there, slumped forward, his body racked with violent shakes.

“You know, Reek, if you're going to act like such a wanton whore, you could at least learn to be a good one. A lesson for another day, perhaps.” He stood, wiping their come from his belly and cock on Reek's ragged hair, before throwing him to the ground.

Reek started to sob with shame and exhaustion, his face pressed into the rug. He barely reacted, even when Ramsay nudged him in the ribs with his foot.

Yes, indeed – this  _had_ been a wonderful idea for a game! It was a shame there had only been the one bottle. Still, thought Ramsay with a smile, the merchant had left behind a whole case full of potions. He found himself wondering which one he should try out next.


End file.
